


Timothée Chalamet's Ticklish Last Resort

by TicklishTimmy



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, Feet, Gay Erotica, M/M, Male Bondage, Male Tickling, Tickle torture, Tickling, Total Power Exchange, m/m - Freeform, male feet, ticklish, timmy tickled, timothee chalamet feet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25799815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TicklishTimmy/pseuds/TicklishTimmy
Summary: COVID-19 has brought Hollywood to it's knees. With the movie industry more or less shut down, actors are having to find other kinds of work. Timothée Chalamet has taken a ticklish recommendation, which he thought would be easy - but instead turns out to be one of the most intense, limit-busting moments of his life...
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 18
Kudos: 40





	1. Tickle Abuse

The tickle chair was made of expensive, deep red leather.

It had a back that offered a comfortable looking head rest and was the size of the average sun-lounger.

At the end of the chair were a pair of stocks. These were connected with steel bolting.

Either side of the head rest were two panels - leather cuffs dangled from them lifelessly.

It was there… It was waiting for him. It existed. And it would be the thing holding him into place.

Timothée raised his eyebrows as he stared at the device.

Shit…

He swallowed down a bubble of anxiety as he ran a hand through his hair. Was it too late to back out?

“Strip off to your underwear, and take a seat,” Said Tim’s Tickler.

Two million dollars… Tim thought to himself.

He closed his eyes and imagined seeing that kind of money back in his account.

The thought itself was enough to remind Tim that he had to do this. He had no choice.

No more movie roles due to the collapse of the film industry had effected him financially.

Post Corona Tim couldn’t afford Pre Corona Tim’s car, or New York apartment.

This was it.

Tim took a breath and pulled off his t-shirt. He then unbuckled his belt.

The Tickler folded his arms and turned away from Tim, allowing him some privacy.

Tim yanked down his cargo pants and kicked them off of his legs. He folded everything into a neat pile, placing it on a nearby couch.

Tim knelt down and began to untie the laces of his sneakers.

“No. Leave your shoes and socks on,” said The Tickler.

Tim paused, acknowledging his orders. He slowly stood back up and let his hands dangle by his sides as he awaited further instruction.

The Tickler walked towards the tickle chair and began to unbuckle the wrist restraints.

Tim let some curls of hair hang over his eyes as he adjusted the elastic waist band of his white Calvin Klein underwear.

“Take a seat,” said The Tickler.

Tim sheepishly walked towards the tickle chair.

He lifted one leg over the base and straddled the device. As he did so, The Tickler unlocked the stocks.

To Tim’s surprise, the stocks opened up in half. This allowed Tim to neatly place his ankles into the ridges of the stocks. Once the top half was closed down, Tim’s ankles were securely locked into place. His shoe’d feed hung nervously out of the other side.

Tim bounced his knees together anxiously. He bit his lower lip as he watched The Tickler approach him.

The Tickler gently took Tim’s left wrist in his hand. He lifted it upward to the side panel and strapped Tim’s wrist into the leather restraint. He did the same with Tim’s right wrist.

Tim’s hands were now at the same height at his head.

He tested the strength of the restraints by pulling at them.

Yup, I’m goin’ nowhere…

He suddenly felt so exposed. His entire body was vulnerable.

The tickle chair sat in the middle of The Tickler’s living room. Behind Tim, there was a tall, orange-bricked fireplace. All of the couches had been pushed aside to allow space for the chair.

The home was stuffy and warm. Tim wasn’t sure if that was the general temperature or if he was just nervous and hot.

The Tickler walked into the kitchen and disappeared through the next door.

Tim sat in the tickle chair silently. He licked his lips and continued to bounce his knee’s.

He angled his head a little, in an attempt to peer past the kitchen.

What the fuck is he doing?

After a minute or two, The Tickler returned with a small leather briefcase. He crouched down and placed this on the other side of the stocks, out of Tim’s sight.

Tim heard the ‘click, click’ of the suitcase being opened. He tried to peer over the stocks, but couldn’t see anything other than The Tickler in the crouched position.

After The Tickler had scrambled through the contents of the suitcase, he knelt on both knees and looked Tim in the eye.

“Ready?”

Tim felt sick.

He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He exhaled the anxiety within him.

“I’m ready,” Tim announced.

The Tickler smirked and began to unlace Tim’s sneakers.

Tim clenched his teeth.

Fuck.

The Tickler did it slowly. He clearly wanted to enjoy this moment.

Tim couldn’t believe this was happening. But the bigger shock was The Tickler himself.

Tim couldn’t believe it was him.

He couldn’t believe he had a tickling fetish, and that fate had bought them back together like this.

***

Two days earlier…

Timothée adjusted his black face mask as he stepped back into the middle of the empty New York sidewalk.

He stared at his own reflection in the glass door opposite him. Butterflies danced around the centre of his stomach.

He wore a pair of black sweat pants that were tucked into thick white socks. His white running trainers glimmered in the sunlight. He tucked his hands into his vintage pink and mint-green sports jacket.

Dark brown curls of hair flicked around his face as the Manhattan breeze blew past him. They were controlled by the large black cap he wore tightly over his head.

He looked from left to right - so far, he hadn’t been spotted.

He took a quick breath and looked down at his feet. He needed to get a grip.

Even if someone did notice him, even if someone did approach him - it wouldn’t matter.

To any witnesses, he was simply entering a large office building. Once he was pass these glass doors, they would never know the real reason he was here.

He wiggled his fingers at rapid speed, willing the doors to open quickly.

CLICK-BZZZZZZZ.

> Hello? <

The voice from the intercom was male and crackly. He sounded around forty, maybe fifty.

“Hey! Hey… Uhm, I’m here … I’m here to… To see Brian…? It’s Timothée…”

> Timothée Chalamet? Wow. You’re… Specifically on time… <

Tim chuckled and removed his cap, quickly running a hand through his hair. “Uh, yeah… Could you uhh, could you let me in?”

> Sure, come to the fourth floor. It’s door number seven… <

After the click, Tim pressed his fingertips against the glass doors and pushed them open. He stepped into the office building and ran up the wooden staircase.

Once on the fourth floor he coughed out some nerves and approached the seventh door in the hall.

In the centre of the door’s glass window was the number seven and the company name.

“Tickle Abuse…” Whispered Tim.

He lowered his head. Some dark brown curls fell over his face, “What am I getting myself into…” He said to himself.

With another intake of breath, he curled his fist into a ball and gently knocked on the door.

***

Brian was a fifty year old man with a red blotchy face and bright, grey hair.

He sat behind a wooden desk and was dressed in a navy t-shirt and boot leg denim jeans.

It was 1.30pm and he was on his fourth glass of red wine.

In front of him sat a MacBook, and on the laptop screen was a picture of Timothée’s face and all of his physical stats.

Height, hair colour, eye colour, waist size, chest size, shoe size etc…

On the opposite side of the desk sat Tim.

“How the mighty have fallen…” Jabbed Brian. He sat back in his seat and folded his arms as he looked over at the once hireable celebrity actor.

Tim looked down at his lap and smirked, shaking his head, “It’s just extra income. Honestly… I’m fine, everything’s fine, actually…”

Brian chuckled as he sat forwards, “That was probably the best example of someone reassuring themselves that things are okay.”

Tim’s smirk faded and he blinked into his lap.

“So,” Brian started, “Like we discussed on the phone, today I’m taking some additional stats and I then get you to sign on the dotted line… Once that’s done, I ship out your info to our client base and I’ll be in touch when someone wants to tickle you into tear-induced hysterics.”

Tim nodded enthusiastically, with eyes wide open and his jaw hanging low. This world was entirely new to him, so he was conscious to take in as much information as possible.

“And once that person had expressed interest, you do the session and you’re then paid. You’re up for whatever time frame, right… I mean, maximum pay is two million dollars…” Brian pulled the MacBook closer to him as he dusted off the screen with his fingertips, “…That means the tickler can have you for up to three hours.”

“… Yeah… I… I can do that,” Tim swallowed. His throat felt dry.

I can’t do that. I can barely stand a foot massage for more than a minute. Fuck…

Brian smiled, allowing his eyes to travel over the landscape of Tim’s face, “You’re a handsome boy…”

Tim blushed. He flickered his eyes around the standard size office and scratched the back of his head, “… Uhm, th… Thanks…”

Brian let his fingertips rest on the keyboard as he stared into the MacBook screen, “And your famous, Or … Used to be … So that’ll help with your sell.”

He took the glass of wine in his hand and sipped it loudly, “Now, for the additional stats…” Brian stood up from his desk and walked to a leather sofa which sat against the wall of the office, “…Come, take a seat.”

Tim fidgeted in his spot for a few seconds before readying himself and getting to his feet. He walked over to the sofa and sat on one side. Brian sat on another.

Brian patted his lap. “Feet here, please.”

Tim couldn’t hide his confusion. “What… What for?”

Brian looked impatient. “The stats. I’m checking all ticklish areas. I’m an expert, don’t worry.”

Oh, but I am worried. I’ve been worried since I fucking walked into this place.

Tim hesitantly placed his feet on Brian’s lap.

Brian gently held onto Tim’s ankles. He pinched the thick, white cotton material of Tim’s tube socks. His fingers slid over Tim’s bright white, immaculately clean running shoes.

“These new?” He asked Tim, tightening his grip on the shoe.

Tim nodded sheepishly as he bit the nail of his thumb, “Yeah. First time I’ve worn them is today.”

Brian tapped his fingers on the lace of the running shoe and nodded slowly, “So they’re nice and fresh. Music to my ears…”

Tim smiled awkwardly.

Brian’s hand left Tim’s feet and reached over unexpectedly to Tim’s side. His fingers jabbed into Tim’s ribs.

Tim squirmed automatically. He clamped his elbows to his sides and let out a sudden laugh.

“Fuck!” He said afterwards. He had to suck in some spit that escaped from his lips.

Brian grinned. He hovered his hand over Tim’s clenched sides. And then, after a moments pause, he continued to jab his fingers into Tim’s ribs.

Tim squealed at each jab. He twisted his upper body and then, without thought, used his own hands to stop Brian.

He snatched at Brians fingers and stopped the attacks immediately.

Brian remained silent. He let Tim calm down.

After a moment of freezing, Tim let go of Brians hands but kept them ready, just in case Brian’s tickling would return.

Brian’s hands rested on Tim’s thighs, where they slid of the material of his sweat pants and then rested on his knee caps. He gave them a quick squeeze, causing Tim to kick his feet and hiss in ticklish agony.

Within seconds, Brian was back up to Tim’s upper body, where his finger’s found their way into the centre of Tim’s armpits.

Tim clenched his jaw and jolted around violently, he squeezed his arms in tightly and twisted his torso around without hesitation. Over tensed, uncontrollable laughter, Tim began to scream “NO, NO…!” He began to shout instead of squeal, the ticklish sensations overwhelming him for a second or so before Brian eventually stopped.

Tim flapped his face cool with his hands, “Fuck, I’m hot,” he said to himself. His vintage mint green and pink jacket seemed to be trapping all of the heat between the material and his now sweat soaked body.

Brian liked that Tim had broke a sweat. He didn’t suggest taking off the jacket. He wanted Tim to feel hot and bothered.

He then began to untie the laces to Tim’s running shoes.

“Oh fuck…” Tim closed his eyes and bit his knuckles. His heart, already pounding in his chest, began to pound a little harder.

He watched Brian pull off each sneaker, revealing Tim’s bright white, socked size 8 feet.

Tim’s toes automatically flexed and curled within the socks as they were released from the tightness of his running trainer.

Brian dropped the trainers onto the floor. He took his index finger and pressed it gently on Tim’s left sole.

Tim’s toes clenched tightly. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Brian dragged his index finger up and down Tim’s left sole.

Tim’s toes squirmed as he bit into his knuckles. He allowed his feet to slide around in Brian’s lap. Within seconds, Brian gathered Tim’s feet together in his arms and had started to tickle both of them full force.

Tim held onto the sides of the couch and began to kick and laugh through the process. His laughs weren’t of joy, they were pained sounds and were being forced outwards by the ticklish sensations shooting through his nervous system.

Tim’s eyes were wide open, his face hurt, he grunted and groaned. He found himself grinning manically at Brian as he endured the ticklish testing.

Brian’s fingers discovered spots on Tim’s feet that he never knew were ticklish. Under his toes, his arch and the sides of his feet were proving to be highly sensitive, and it was killing him.

Tim managed to squirm his feet out of Brians grasp, where he held onto his soles with his own hands, “Jesus…!”

Brian smirked and patted his lap, “Back here, please.”

Tim paused. “Isn’t that enough? Can’t you tell?”

Brian stared at Tim in silence.

Tim huffed. He then hesitantly returned his feet to Brian’s lap.

Brian made sure that Tim’s legs were now crossed at the ankle. He pinched the top of Tim’s left sock. Even this caused Tim to yelp.

He then pulled the socks off of Tim’s feet.

Tim winced. The sudden feeling of air on his now bare feet felt strange but satisfying.

Brian gasped.

Tim’s feet were perfect.

His toes were perfectly aligned. His toenails were healthy and well kept. The tops of his feet were smooth. His soles were milky white and they looked incredibly soft.

“Christ, kid. You been walking on clouds all your life?” Brian looked over Tim’s feet, using his fingers to pull apart Tim’s toes, assessing the in-betweens with the curiosity.

Tim clenched his teeth and gripped the sides of the sofa as Brian discovered Tim’s toes, “Ahh… Ahh, uh, I uh…” He let out an automatic chuckle, hissing as Brian found an especially ticklish area around Tim’s little toes, “AH! Uh yeah, I rarely walk around barefoot, I g.. I guess….”

Tim’s toes would attempt to clamp shut, but Brian just pulled them apart to finger them in-between. For Tim, it was ticklish agony.

Brian licked his lips. He held onto Tim’s big toes with his index finger and thumb, ensuring that Tim’s bare feet were now trapped together.

After a moment of inspection, he began to tickle Tim’s feet.

Tim might as well of been given an electric shock.

He jolted around on the sofa like a fish out of water. He reached and grabbed over at Brian, pulling at the sleeves of his t-shirt as he hissed, giggled and dribbled through the next five minutes of foot tickling.

Tim couldn’t handle it. His feet were too ticklish. The sensitivity on his bare soles was over whelming. He ended up begging Brian to stop.

“Please, please stop, okay OKAY WE GET IT, THEY’RE TICKLISH, STOP! MAN, PLEASE!”

Brian was fuelled by Tim’s plea’s.

“Man, I mean it, MAN, STOP!” Tim became aggressive as his feet were attacked. He began to kick violently as his toes squirmed beneath the tickling fingers. His pulling at Brian’s t-shirt wasn’t enough. He then threw his hands over his face and began to roll around like a mad man.

He buried his face into the arm of the sofa and squealed into the material. Noises were taken from his lungs, his stomach was tight, he had no control of his throat or the verbal and physical reactions that were drawn from him by the nails scratching against his sensitive soles.

Brian revelled in watching Tim’s feet withe around in his grip. The perfect, soft, ticklish toes flexed and curled under his power. He decided to break code and grabbed Tim’s feet harder, bringing them to his mouth where he began to lick and suck on his toes.

Tim was taken by surprise. It didn’t tickle as much as the fingers, but it was still sensitive.

“WHAT! Man, fuck… Fuck! We didn… We didn’t discuss….” Tim decided to stop speaking and allow Brian to lick his feet…

The feeling was warm and strange, but it was also less torturous than what he had previously endured.

Tim automatically kicked a little. Brians tongue would find a highly sensitive spot and his reactions couldn’t be helped. But this really was a moment for him to catch his breath.

As he lay there panting, Brian took one more suck out of Tim’s right, ticklish big toe and then dropped the boy’s feet back into his lap.

Tim could feel Brian’s hard on beneath his sensitive soles.

Brian licked his lips, and then looked over at Tim. “Yeah, you’ll do,” he said, with a smile.

***

Back in the tickle chair…

The Tickler removed Tim’s left sneaker and dropped it onto the floor. He glared over at Tim and offered him a friendly smirk, “Ready?”

Tim lowered his head in defeat, “I’m ready, Armie.”

Armie took his index finger and placed it on the middle of Tim’s socked sole.

Tim scrunched up his toes and readied himself for the biggest tickling of his life.

*In Part 2, Armie Hammer tickles Tim in the tickle chair, where he explains his fetish to the young celebrity actor*


	2. The Claws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tickle Abuse contacted Timmy and have found him a Tickler. Never in his wildest dreams would he of expected it to be Armie Hammer...

Tim could just about control himself as Armie’s warm, tanned hands curled around his soft size 8 feet, where he rubbed the cold, shimmering baby oil into Timmy's naked soles. 

Tim writhed around in the tickle chair as the cold oil was applied. He felt a little drunk from the beer Armie had given him just moments ago. He then licked some of that beer, along with some sweat, off of his upper lip and let his head hang over his shoulders as he tried to catch his breath. 

Thick, dark curls of brown hair littered his forehead as he green eyes sparkled defeatedly. 

The wrist cuffs snatched his hands in place as he automatically tried to pull his arms forwards. CLANK! The ticklish sensation he felt as the baby oil was applied was proving too much, especially around his arches.

"Jesus..." He muttered, under his hoarse breath. 

Tim flickered those green eyes upwards. 

He watched Armie grinning. Armie was being overtly cheeky. And Tim was aware that Armie knew that. 

Armie would frequently and lightly scratch his finger nails over Tim’s sensitive soles as he applied the oil - he loved watching Tim jerk around unexpectedly, damn he was even more ticklish than he ever remembered. 

Tim hissed as he adapted to Armie's teasing hands. One minute he'd be massaging the baby oil into his feet, the next minute he'd be tickling under his toes. Fuck, this was frustrating! 

Tim bit his lip and gave in. He had to ask, "… What, what is that for?” His question was breathless and desperate. His eyes focused on the large bottle of baby oil. 

Armie applied one last generous amount. "Your feet are highly ticklish, Timmy. But this... This will make it worse. It'll make the next hour or so... Well, unbearable,” Armie took a moment to assess Tim’s shining, glimmering soles before taking the lid and screwing it back onto the bottle. 

Tim felt his body fall limply into the tickle chair. "Sounds ... Great..." he managed to say, with a dry, sarcastic tone. 

Armie chuckled and placed the bottle of baby oil into the tool box. He then dried his hands with a nearby towel and started to assess the tool boxes contents. 

Tim peered over the stocks that trapped his feet. He could see that Armie had picked something out of the box, but he couldn't fully see what it was. His toes clenched tightly with anticipation.

It was then Armie applied the hairbrush… 

***

2 hours earlier… 

Tim flexed his toes within his crisp white socks as his trainers were slowly and sensually removed by Armie. 

Tim still couldn't believe that the entire process had lead him to now be seated, in Armie's living room, in this tickle chair. He was expecting some old guy, or some sadistic woman - but Armie... A tickle fetishist? This was crazy. 

Armie had tickled Tim many times before - on the red carpet, in front of friends, and many times as an ad-lib moment during the filming of Call Me By Your Name. 

Armie had tested Tim’s ticklish limits during the nose bleed scene, with the frequent scratch under his toes as he ‘massaged’ his feet. Armie had taken joy and pleasure during the sadistic testing, but he had never revealed to Tim that he had a genuine fetish. Not until now, anyway. 

“You’ve always liked tickling me… Haven’t you?” Asked Tim, through soft uncontrollable giggles, as Armie began to toy with his socked feet. 

“Was it that obvious…?” Asked Armie. He was now kneeling by the red leather tickle chair, running his index fingers over Tim’s socked arches. 

Tim’s toes were fully clenched. His feet twisted manically from side to side as he clenched his fists and pulled at the restraints. “It … It is… It is now…” Managed Tim, through gritted teeth. 

Armie smiled, hiding the blush on his cheeks with his hands. He then pinched the tips of Tim’s socks. This caused Tim’s feet to squirm. Even Armie’s fingers pinching at the socks felt sensitive. 

Tim was on constant, high alert. 

“Tim… I’ve always wanted to do this with you. I’m so glad you accepted.” Armie pulled off Tim’s left sock, to reveal his bare foot.

Armie sat back and let his jaw drop. He held onto Tim’s foot gently and admired the perfection in front of him. “Tim, your feet are… They’ve always been perfect.” 

Tim lowered his head and let his cheeks flush red. “Thanks,” he said, simply.

Armie took his index finger and gently trailed it over the soft, silky expanse of Tim’s left sole. His finger glided over the white flesh. 

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his toes tightly. 

Armie let his index finger finish somewhere near his toes, before going over to Tim’s other foot, where he removed the sock. He threw the sock over his shoulder and began to massage Tim’s feet firmly. 

Tim let his head rest back against the tickle chair. His arms went limp and he realised he now had control of his breathing again. “Mmm…” Tim was enjoying the massage. That was something he could take... Until Armie started to scratch underneath his toes. 

“FUCK.” Tim pulled forwards. The wrist restraints clanked loudly as he threw his upper body towards Armie, “STOP.” He hissed. 

Armie grinned. He immediately went back to massaging Tim’s feet. Tim’s body relaxed once again, but his legs and feet were stiffened as he readied himself for more unexpected attacks.

"How long are you gonna do this for…?” Asked Tim, his glare towards Armie was intense and fierce, but also flirtatious. 

Armie admired both of Tim’s bare feet as he pretended to think about his answer. The hard on within his pants was at bursting point, “Hmmm. However long I want…” 

Tim’s feet flicked from side to side as Armie attempted to hold them still. 

“But… The time limit is… Is three hours…” Tim tried to hide the anxiety in his voice. 

Armie had started to take the black, thick string that was attached to the stocks of the tickle chair and loop them around each of Tim’s toes. This was proving difficult, because anytime Armie even touched Tim’s toes, his feet would squirm defensively. 

“Agh! S-s-stop… What are you… Doing?” Tim winced as the string placed between his toes caused him to arch his back reactively. Fuck, that was ticklish. 

“I’m keeping you in place…” Armie glared at Tim sadistically, “For as long as I want...” 

“NO!” Tim shrilled as he watched Armie hoop the individual string attachments around each of his toes. “...No... No... That… That’s not fair! That’s not what was… A-agreed!” Tim squealed. 

Armie shrugged. “What are you going to do about it?” He asked, arching a brow. 

Armie was right. What was Tim going to do about it? He was tied to this huge, red leather tickle chair. Locked in, restrained. His feet were the most restricted and immobile they'd ever been. They were bare, naked. His ticklish flesh was entirely exposed, fully vulnerable. He was... Stuck. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Tim threw his head back in agony as Armie began to tickle his now fully exposed feet. 

Tim knew he was getting through this He was able to endure this entire experience, by venting frustrations - his feet would twist and turn, his toes would flex, he would feel slightly comfortable by knowing he could attempt to move away from Armie’s tickling fingers - but now, with his feet so tied, so bound, all he could do was let it happen. All he could do, was be tickle tortured. 

Armie suddenly stopped tickling Tim, allowing him a moment to catch his breath. 

“Please… I can't... I can't do more... Than... Three hours… I can’t…” 

Armie smirked. He hadn’t even used the hair brush on him yet. This was going to be a fantastic few days. 

Armie then began to search through his tool box. 

Tim lifted his head up. His neck ached from being so stiff. He peered over the stocks, stretching out to see what was in store next, “What now?” He moaned. 

Armie was taking his time. Something seemed to be happening, and it was happening one by one. “I bet you didn’t think I could be this sadistic…” Armie licked his lips. He was sweating himself, flustered by the whole experience. 

Tim shook his head. His throat was dry, “I had no idea… You even had this in you… Why me…?” 

Armie analysed his hands, which now had sharp, metal claws attached to each finger, “Because you’re special, Timmy. I’ve never known anyone as ticklish as you… You're the most ticklish person I've ever met in my entire life.” 

Tim gulped. He glared at the claws at the ends of Armie’s fingers. 

Armie began to gently scratch Tim’s soles with the claws. They were sharp enough to cause an insanely intense, sensitive reaction, but they weren’t sharp enough to cut Timmy’s feet. 

Tim’s face exploded manically and hysterically. The sides of his head jolted ferociously. The ticklish sensations caused by the claws caused him to reach forwards and scream at Armie, whilst his wrists were tightly held in place. 

His feet were abused and attacked by the claws, unable to move and only able to endure the tickling that went on for six minutes non stop, but felt like it was forever. 

Tim would buck and squirm, he would arch his back and swear. He would cuss, kick and moan. He would hiss and dribble. His dark hair fell over his face, blinding him. His back slid across the now sweaty behind of the tickle chair. 

He would dread every single scratch. 

Armie grinned sadistically. He spent time on all areas of the ticklish, silky smooth fleshy areas of Tim’s highly sensitive feet. He then found an area on Tim’s arch that caused the boy to go wild - so he stayed there a little longer and focused on that area to ensure that Tim would suffer. 

At one point in time, Armie caught a ‘moment’ in Tim that was pure suffering. His face was wide and stretched. His eyes looked like they were going to bulge out of his head. 

His hysterical, open mouth was a mixture of laughing and screaming. 

His veins in his neck and temples were thick. 

His moist tongue flapped outwards. 

It was then Armie knew he had pushed him to his limits, and it was then he knew he would continue to keep him here, at this level, for the foreseeable future. 

He tickled and tickled and tickled and tickled Tim’s feet until Tim was a hoarse, dribbling mess. 

And then, he stopped. 

Tim’s body fell limply against the tickle chair. His hands dangled lifelessly and his chest heaved upwards and downwards. His stomach was solid, the soles of his feet tingling. 

Armie wiped some sweat from his own head and got to his feet, “Catch your breath, I’m going to get us some beers..."

Tim was a rag doll. When played with, he was an erratic and violent mess. When left alone, he fell lifelessly against his own weight like a character from Toy Story.

"And then we'll be ready for round three..." said Armie, as he walked into the kitchen.

Tim let some dribble hang from the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t speak just yet, he was too busy controlling his breathing. He was so overwhelmed with relief, relief that it was over for at least a little while. 

“…R… R…. round… Thr… Three…?” He muttered, coughing into his bare shoulder. 

Tim had no idea, yet, that 'round three' would be the brush - the very thing that would destroy him, and send him to a ticklish existence that he never thought possible. 

But first... A beer.

***

In Part 3, Timothée is pushed further than he thought possible by the brush. But he doesn't know that this is just the start of the torturous relationship with Armie.


	3. Blackout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's ticklish ordeal continues - this time, Armie pushes Timmy to blackout...

Tim was entirely owned by the Tickle Chair, and Armie’s tickling fingers.

Trapped, tied, secured, and totally at the mercy of another person, Tim had no choice but to just endure the entire process, until Armie released him.

His feet tingled. His soles were shimmering, soaked in cold baby oil. Droplets of the liquid fell off his heels and landed on the floor.

His ankles were tight in the stocks. His wrists were numb in the restraints.

His stomach had just got back to feeling less tight. His breath has just returned.

Armie sat beside The Tickle Chair and poured the cold beer into a glass. He kept his beer in the bottle.

After taking a swig, he moved the glass of beer towards Tim’s mouth.

Tim swallowed the beer down. A few large gulps soothed his dry throat.

He felt the impact of the alcohol immediately. He hadn’t drank for a few weeks. And now he was so exhausted, the booze worked as a cooler and a tension-remover. He smiled and let his head fall against the leather behind of the Tickle Chair. His eyes flickered over to Armie.

“So, how long is this going to go on for?” 

Armie took a sip of his beer and avoided Tim’s eye line. He felt bad for pushing his friend to such limits, but his tickling fetish overwhelmed any loyalties. 

“As long as I want…” He replied.

Tim lowered his head and allowed the feeling of dread fill his chest. “I… I don’t think I can take anymore, Armie. I’m… I’m too ticklish…”

Armie got to his feet. As he stood, it was impossible not to see the huge boner pressing against the inside of his jeans.

Tim’s eyes widened as he caught the size of the boner. 

Wow, he thought. He really does love tickling.

“The fact you even say stuff like that… It drives me wild, Tim. I knew you were ticklish - but this is another level…” Armie finished his beer and popped the empty bottle down on the coffee table.

He knelt down by Tim’s bare feet and began to gently press his index finger on Timmy’s ticklish, baby oil covered soles.

Tim clenched his teeth. His feet writhed around automatically. His toes pulled at the individual string restraints that contained them.

The tickling was soft enough to not be too much, but teasing enough to still feel like torture.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists.

Armie smirked and stood back up. 

He walked over to Tim and, ever so slowly, stepped BEHIND the Tickle Chair.

He looked down at Tim’s head. His curly, dark hair looked a little wet in places, probably from the sweating. 

Without warning, Armie reached over Tim’s shoulders and began to tickle under his arms.

Tim winced and jerked his spine upwards. He screamed into the air as soon as Armie’s tickling fingers reached the depths of his armpits.

Tim’s eyes bulged out of his head as the armpit tickling intensified, as soon as Armie added additional pressure.

Tim’s laughter bellowed, uncontrollably, out of his lungs. He pulled at the wrist restraints manically, in a desperate attempt to close up the space between his armpits. But the restraints were secure, and Tim’s arms would be going nowhere.

“STOP, GOD, JESUS ARMIE, I CAN’T, NO, NO NOOOO!”

Armie chuckled as he continued to tickle Tim’s armpits. He watched Tim’s head throw itself around, to the point where Armie had to watch out that he didn’t get hit.

Tim’s brain went into defence mode. He couldn’t handle this anymore. The tickling was too much. He would have to do anything he possibly good to stop this. So he crained his neck to the side and widened his jaw.

It was then he grabbed Armie’s hand with his teeth and bit down onto his flesh.

“JESUS!” Armie snapped his hand back and flapped it in the air.

The tickling stopped. Tim’s head fell onto his chest and he began to catch his breath as dribble fell from the corner of his plump, pink lips.

Curls of hair littered Timmy’s face, he felt no guilt in taking a bite out of Armie’s hand.

Armie sucked his hand better and then walked around the Tickle Chair, to face Tim. 

Tim’s green eyes looked up past his thick, dark eyebrows. Armie looked angry.

“Tim, that was…” Armie glared at Tim, and after a few seconds, he smirked, “That was kinda hot.”

Tim chuckled, his breath returning, his throat hoarse. “I… I had to… I’m sorry…”

Armie knelt down by his box of tickling tools and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t apologise,” he said, with a flirtatious tone.

He reached into the box and pulled out a hair brush.

The brush was large and black. It was circular, with nibs poking out of the entire upper surface.

Tim’s eyes fell on the brush as he swallowed down hard. That, applied onto the soles of his feet, would push him over the edge.

And that was just Armie’s intention….

Tim started to ask questions, to avoid the brush from happening.

“Have you always had a t… Thing for ... Tickling?” Timmy wished he could speak properly, but the exhaustion was starting to set in.

Armie arched an eyebrow as he ran his finger tips over the brush. “I have. But, I think, Tim… Tickling you is my new obsession.”

Tim blushed, and then gulped. Would this be happening again?

“Now, for the final act…” Armie placed the brush against Tim’s shining, left sole.

Tim winced, saliva piercing the corners of his mouth. “No…”

He could tell this would be tough. 

Armie began to gently slide the hair brush over Tim’s sole, and within mili seconds Tim was burying his face into his armpit. He bit his lip and squeezed his eye shut. 

It was then Armie began to tickle Tim’s feet with the hair brush, pressing hard onto the soles with an intense pressure. Immediately, he found Tim’s weakness - right in the arch of his foot.

Tim’s giggles turned to bellowed laughter, which turned into hysterical, loud, visceral screams.

He begged, he squirmed, he shouted, he swore, he writhed and bucked around so hard that The Tickle Chair began to lift off of the floor.

Armie continued. The more Tim reacted, the more Armie was aroused, and the more he tickled.

Tim’s eyes were wide open, his forehead was covered in sweat. Even his hair started to annoy him, it entirely covered his face from how much his head would be swinging around. 

It was a mind numbing ticklishness - something he had never understood before - something he never thought he’d experience, something he never thought would be a feeling POSSIBLE, to experience. He new ticklish-ness existed. But not like this.

It was then Armie applied a SECOND brush, to Tim’s right foot.

Tim arched his back and started to shake his head violently, “NO, ARMIE, NOT TWO… I CAN’T HANDLE TWOOO!”

Armie chuckled and continued to tickle both of Tim’s baby oiled covered feet, with the hair brushes.

Tim went berserk. He burst into tears, his cheeks becoming stained with emotion as he glared at Armie, “NO! NO! NO!” His voice was hoarse, his throat dry, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? STOP! STOP?? STOP?!”

Armie grinned manically. He went for it - hard. 

It was then, for Tim, everything went black.

***

In Chapter 4, Timmy wakes up... But he isn't in the Tickle Chair...


	4. Starfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's desperation gets the better of him...

When Tim awoke he realised he no longer sat in the tickle chair.

Instead, he sat on an entirely different contraption.

Like before, his wrists had been tied to padded arm rests either side of him. 

But this time, instead of his ankles being placed in stocks, his legs had been fully spread apart.

Leather restraints strapped Tim’s thighs and ankles to padded leg rests.

His body had been seated in a open star fish position, and he had never felt this vulnerable and exposed in his entire life.

Tim had passed out. He knew this much.

Armie had drenched his soles in baby oil and used two hair brushes to tickle each of Tim’s feet until he had blacked out.

How embarrassing. So ticklish that he couldn’t even stay conscious.

Little did Tim know that this didn’t make Armie see Tim as a failure or weak.

Knowing he was that ticklish only turned him on more. It only made Armie want to tickle Tim further, and to push him past any limits he even thought possible. 

Tim felt dread flood his stomach.

What was next?

Tim looked around the room he sat in. He seemed to be in a bedroom, but the bed had been removed and the large star-fish shaped contraption Tim had been tied to had replaced the bed itself.

The bedroom door, once closed, clicked a little and then opened inwards.

Armie stepped into the room and smiled quietly at Tim.

“You okay, buddy?” He asked.

Tim lowered his head exhaustedly and then shot his green eyes up to Armie.

“I’m… I’m so tired. I’m sorry…” Tim cleared his throat and bit his lip in desperation, “… I… I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Armie walked into the room and turned to shut the bedroom door. He then turned back to Tim and headed over to the contraption he’d been tied to.

“What if I give you a further one million dollars?” Armie stood by Tim’s left foot.

The chair Tim had been tied to was quite high, so Tim’s foot came up to Armie’s waist. 

“… Armie… I… I just… I can’t take it… It’s too much…” Tim sighed defeatedly, “I’m too ticklish.”

Armie grinned and took his index finger to Tim’s left sole. He pressed his finger nail gently into the soft, baby pink flesh and started to run it towards Tim’s toes.

Tim winced and immediately attempted to twist his foot away from Armie’s finger.

“Ssstapp!” He protested, “Seriously.”

Armie ran his finger up Tim’s not so ticklish left calf, until it reached Tim’s hyper ticklish left thigh.

Tim tried to pull his thighs together, but the straps holding them down restricted this from happening.

“FUCK! FUCK, that… That tickles!” Tim threw his head around in anguish as Armie dug his fingers into Tim’s exposed, vulnerable thighs. 

“Jesus, man, Armie, stop!” Tim found this sort of tickling unbearable. It was an uncontrollable, torturous ache that caused him to arch his back and clench his fists, where he trashed his head from left to right.

Armie stopped, suddenly.

Tim sat back and caught his breath. Dark curls littered the front of his face.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make my intentions clear, Timmy…” Armie’s fingers left Tim’s thighs and then began to trail along the young boy’s sides.

Tim tightened his lips together, squeezed his eyes shut and took a long intake of breath in through his nose

“… I thought it was obvious…” Armie began to gently poke into Tim’s ribs, causing the boy to squirm from left to right.

“… What… Do you… Mean…? Asked Tim, through clenched teeth.

“My desires…” Replied Armie, “… To tickle you, like this. Don’t you remember, during our time in Italy…?”

Tim automatically pulled at his wrist restraints as Armie began to draw his fingers closer to his exposed, sweaty armpits.

At the same time, he thought back at times where he filmed with Armie on location, during their Call Me By Your Name days.

He remembered placing his left foot in Armie’s lap, during the nosebleed scene. 

He remembered Armie squeezing his toes, scraping his fingernails across the pad of his sole, running his thumb up the arch of his foot.

He remembered being caught on film squirming, hissing, writhing around in Armie’s tickling hands.

People thought Tim had been acting - that wasn’t the case. Tim had just been portraying an intensely genuine, ticklish reaction.

“By… By the window…” Tim managed to say, as Armie’s fingers reached his armpits, “… You kept tickling me… Even though it w-w-wasn’t in the script…” 

Armie grinned, “You got it, kid.”

Armie then moved behind the contraption and angled his arms so they were coming out from behind the chair. 

Tim couldn’t see where Armie was headed - all he could see were his hands poking out from either side of him.

“Wha… Where… Why … What are you…” Before Tim could finish his mumbled confusion, Armie attached Tim’s ticklish armpits with his fingers.

Tim erupted into a hysterical explosion of agony and physical reaction. He bucked around, arched his back and threw his head from left to right as his sensitive armpits were tortured by Armie’s tickling digits.

Tim’s voice turned hoarse and desperate, saliva began to form either sides of his mouth as his brain felt like it might explode, “NOOOOO! ARMIE, NOOOO! NOOOO STOP, STOP! PLEASE, PA-LEEEAAAAAAAAAASE!”

Armie grinned menacingly as he continued to dance his fingers ip and down the boys’s sides, around his rib cage, in the warm, sweaty holes of his armpits, until he felt he had pushed Tim to a limit.

That limit was Tim begging in a way Armie hadn’t heard before, a desperate beg, one that consisted of whaling and almost crying. 

When Armie stopped, Tim’s body limply fell down, the restraints holding him in place.

Tim caught his breath. Armie moved back round to face him. He wiped some saliva away from Tim’s mouth.

“You’re doing good, Timmy…”

Armie looked down at Tim’s underwear. He wore white Calvin Kleins.

Armie so desperately wanted to discover if Tim was ticklish around there. It was why he’d tied him this way.

Armie hooked his index finger around the waist band of Tim’s underwear and looked him in the eye.

“Can I…?”

Tim sounded hysterical as he replied with a crying tone, “Do what you want, for Christs sake… Do anything! Anything but tickling… I … I don’t care anymore… Anything but the tickling…”

Armie smirked and arched an eye brow, “Anything…?” He asked

Tim nodded frantically, “… A—anything…”

Wow, Armie thought. That was desperation. He really couldn’t stand it.

And with Tim’s permission, Armie left the room, returned with some scissors, and cut away Tim’s underwear…


End file.
